Saving People, Hunting Things
by DreamingStarkly
Summary: Spoilers: The world ends up not ending at the hands of giant angry gods. This causes problems, as per usual. Marty and Dana are saved and left to deal with the consequences of their time at the Cabin. Special appearance by Team Free Will. Marty/Dana
1. Chapter 1

**"Saving People, Hunting Things"**

A Cabin in the Woods/Supernatural Fanfiction

**Part 1 of 2**

**Author's Note**: I apologize if this completely squicks you out. Fact of the matter is there's a severe lack of straight CitW fanfiction. Maybe I'll explore those possibilities later. But I needed this to happen.

Dedicated to iamandystark, my wifey. OTP: Poptarts 5evr

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Marty could wax poetic the extent to which he will deny his stupid infatuation with Dana. Hell, the poor girl didn't have a clue.

Oh, there were the usual reasons why he shouldn't fuck up their friendship, the fact that she was completely out of his league, he was a semi-paranoid stoner who ran the website on the September 11th conspiracy, yadda yadda.

Nah, point is he had that little heartache so buried underneath the rest of his mental crap he had nearly forgotten about it. He just let it wither like the fling with Jules. At least…that was what he _thought_ was happening until Curt told him that the asshole professor dumped Dana cold. He passed off his fury as righteous anger of his friend being wronged.

Things just got worse after that. Jules setting Dana up with Holden, for example. Oh, he was high enough to not let it get to him _too_ badly. For a while. And then he was just downright irritated when Dana was more preoccupied with Holden than Marty's instincts going haywire.

And, of course, can't forget the whole undead homicidal maniacs attacking their vacation house and killing almost everyone.

And nothing says foiled love affair like fighting off monsters in the basement of a super-secret government facility that coordinated sacrifices to unspeakable cosmic beings.

But, here they are.

She was shivering at her place curled against his side…or maybe it was the cracking of the ground as the Sadistic Titan Gods of All Things Horrible writhed underneath them. In any case, as much as the weed soothed the oncoming panic of impending death, she was still fucking terrified. He was too, of course, but maybe the absolute absurdity of the situation calmed his nerves.

All in all, he was kind of upset that she turned a gun on to him, and he was enough of a self-serving douche to let her get tackled by a werewolf. But for some reason it only made him more convinced he was a total loser for loving the woman. He realized that maybe Dana was as much a coward as he was.

The stench of blood assaulted Marty as he pulled her closer, but he got over it. Well, that's what happens when you're in the middle of the apocalypse. Dana's fingers dug into his palm painfully, but he tried to distract her by humming the headliner for an obscure ska band that he knew she hated. A harsh cough of laughter shook her shoulders and he smiled.

The stone floor was really buckling now.

_Now's the fucking time, Marty_.

"Dana," he whispered. She looked at him sideways, her gore-splattered face tight with fear and determination.

Maybe he was a twisted bastard, but damn if she didn't look beautiful. Marty swallowed, the burning of his wounds distracting even through the haze of hash (particularly between his shoulders. Fucking zombies). But he (and Dana) were as good as dead at this point, so he inhaled sharply and gathered the last of his courage before they were smashed/eaten/torn apart. Fuck, if he has to have a deathbed confession, it might as well be the one measly thing that wasn't tainted by drugs, cynicism, or every other sin he's committed in his boring two decades on this world.

Marty was beginning to understand exactly why he was nominated the "Fool" in this operation.

"I—"

Unfortunately, a major cockblock (not that he'd get any within the next two seconds, but whatever) in the form of a bright white light filled their view.

Marty was pretty sure he was dead. Really, what else can you expect as you were already facing death for the past, like, six hours or whatever? But when the collapsing world around them faded only to be replaced by more woods and the pain between his shoulders only grew worse, he realized that they were still in the same shit world that they pretty much set up to be destroyed.

The third thing that registered in Marty's already over-worked mind was that three men were standing over them. A dark haired guy in a backwards tie and a rumpled trenchcoat, a taller guy who looked like a male model turned mechanic, and the tallest who looked like he could go hand-to-hand with a bear and win. The last two each had a sawed-off shutgun in their hands.

Marty wished he still had that pistol. Or the knife.

"That's the last of them," the giant sighed. "Looks like the spell worked."

"Survivors?"

"Looks like it's just these two, but it's possible some escaped before we got in."

"Jesus," the shorter one hissed. "How the hell were they able to get away with this for so long? And on nearly every continent too?"

"I think you remember how intelligent these things can be," Trenchcoat Guy said. "The magic here…it is very old. Protected even from the eyes of Heaven."

"I fucking _hate_ gods. Worse than witches, if you ask me."

"Sorry, but…" Marty rasped, his head reeling from exhaustion, shock, pain, and confusion, "who the hell _are_ you guys?"

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The monster hunters—that's what they called themselves, weird, but he guessed nothing would surprise him now—helped Marty lever Dana into the backseat of the black Impala. Castiel, the white-collar angel, was helping Sam the sasquatch (not literally, but Marty was pretty sure he saw one of those in the House of a Thousand Horrors) pack up the trunk.

Apparently the angel had zapped them out before the place crumbled, and the three were able to send those titan motherfuckers back to whatever hellhole they spawned from. Impressive, seeing as the entire corporation with all their chemical fuckery was unable to control those guys for the past millennia without sacrificing a couple of kids every year.

So yeah, Earth was still spinning. Marty wasn't sure if he was disappointed or relieved. At least, everything was going fine until Dana slumped to the side in the backseat of the Chevy, unconscious.

"Fuck _shit_ fuck." Marty skittered to her side in a panic, clambering over her legs to kneel in the backseat by her head. Dean swung the opposite door open to lean through.

"What happened?" Sam asked from the trunk.

"She's not breathing!" Marty shouted, patting her cheek frantically. "C'mon, Dana! _Dana_!"

Dean swatted Marty's hand away to search for a pulse. The hunter had a furrowed brow, and Marty did not like the implications at all.

"Dammit," Dean muttered. His hand dropped away and Marty was staring at him, frozen with dread. The guy shook his head. "I'm sorry, man, but—"

With a shuddering gasp, Dana's chest heaved. Relief was replaced with shock as Marty watched the wounds on her throat close up on their own. The skin knit back together underneath the clotted blood, until it was smooth and scar-less.

Everyone was silent for half a beat.

"I-I-I don't get it," Marty stuttered as he leaned back, his hands going through his hair. "She was fucking _mauled_."

"By what?" Castiel prompted.

"A werewolf," Marty told him. "It nearly tore her throat out!"

The angel and Dean shared a look.

"What?" Marty demanded.

"Kid, you're tellin' us this chick was bitten," Dean said pointedly, "by a _werewolf_."

"That's what I said," Marty agreed, the point going over his head. "Why are you just standing there, did your angel do some crazy hoodoo or something because I'm pretty sure werewolf bites—"

Then it clicked.

A werewolf. Dana was a werewolf. Well, shit.

"Whoa," Marty grinned despite (or perhaps because of) his shock. "I'm friends with a werewolf now. Awesome."

"Not awesome," Sam corrected from over Dean's shoulder. "She's not human anymore, man. Trust me."

Dana groaned, and Marty was interrupted from further questioning as his friend sat up.

"—the hell?" she muttered, blinking furiously. "What d'you mean; not human?"

"Now that we've established that she's alive, I will meet you later," Castiel told Dean and Sam in his flat, deep voice. "There might have been further escapees of the underground facility. The insubstantial ones, especially, could have fled before the structure collapsed." Dean nodded.

"Round 'em up and meet us in Denver tonight."

The angel disappeared.

"Yeah, he does that a lot," Sam said, noting Marty's and Dana's blank expressions.

"What did you say about me being not human?" Dana insisted, her pitch rising in barely restrained panic.

Marty looked up at Dean, who was still leaning through the open door on the other side of the car. The hunter was staring at him expectantly. What the hell? These guys were the experts on monsters, not him.

"Uh…" he started. "You know that werewolf that bit you before the ceiling began to come down on us?"

"Yeah…?"

"Well, um, not sure how much you know about werewolf lore. You know, when someone gets bit...they. Ah. Get turned. Into. A werewolf?" Real articulate, Marty. Good one.

"Wh—_what_? Are you saying—?"

"You wounds healed up. Like magic. I…I mean it could have been a different kind of wolf monster." Marty looked at Sam and Dean desperately. "It's possible, isn't it?"

"Big, furry, stands on two legs?" Sam asked.

"Well, yes, but—"

"Werewolf," the two hunters stated simultaneously.

"Can you give us a second?" Sam pulled his brother away from the car.

"So what d'you think?" Dean asked, his back to Marty and Dana.

"They just got through hell and back," Sam muttered to his brother. "Their friends are dead. She hasn't even eaten anybody yet. But she's also a werewolf, Dean."

"I don't think Marty is going to be too happy if we gank his girlfriend." Dean sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Hell, if they can manage getting out of _that_ alive, maybe he can keep her out of trouble."

"You think it'll be that easy?"

"What about Kate? Those werewolves can control the bloodlust better. It's not a full moon tonight. The one that bit her _had_ to be a pureblood. Maybe the monsters _are_ getting more human," Dean shrugged. "Wigs me out, but there you have it. I don't know man," he replied, groaning. "Fuck, I hate repeats."

"Maybe you're just getting soft."

"Maybe it's your girly sentiment rubbing off on me. Bitch."

"Jerk."

"Listen, if you guys are done deciding if I should be put down or not," Dana snapped, "maybe you can just drop us off at my house? Or the police station?" Marty's brow rose. He couldn't hear a word the two were saying. Super-wolf ears already?

Dana was attempting to keep from shaking judging by her white-knuckled fists, and Marty resisted the urge to wrap an arm around her shoulder. _That_ moment was dead and gone.

"No go with the cops, missy," Dean said. "Hospital is out too, at least 'til you're cleaned up a little. They'll call the cops _for_ you. Especially when they get two people covered in blood and guts."

"Home then?" Dana asked, her voice thin. Marty could tell she was about to hit her last string. An ugly thought came to mind.

"Do we still have one?" he murmured.

"I'm not takin' sides here, Dana, but your friend's right," Sam said. "This organization or whatever did its homework. Marty is non-existent. You are too. All records wiped and I'm pretty sure if we got a hold of your parents they would have no idea they even _have_ a daughter. These people were scarily thorough. No one asking questions, nothing to clean up afterwards."

"How do you know all this?" Marty questioned, dumbfounded.

"Hacked into the system. It's how we found you guys," he explained. "There's been rumors about this area of disappearances every year going back centuries now. No one in the area seemed to find it particularly peculiar so we checked it out."

"We also have an angel who can do the digging for us," Dean added.

"What am we supposed to do, then?" Dana demanded. "And if I'm a—a werewolf or whatever…how is that going to play out?"

"You are going to crave human flesh. Hearts, to be accurate," Dean said, looking grim (it seemed to be his default face). Dana's face fell into disgust and shock.

"But some like you have been able to survive on animal hearts," Sam told her. "You can choose to control it. The bloodlust I mean."

"Isn't there a way to reverse it?" Marty asked, not liking how Dana was looking more and more pale at the concept. "I mean in the movies, you kill the head wolf—the alpha or whatever—and poof, human again!"

"We've tried that. It…didn't work out so well," Sam frowned.

"I'm stuck like this?" Dana rasped, her hand going to her throat as Marty passed a hand over his face in frustration.

"I'm so sorry, Dana, but yeah," he said, sincere in his sympathy. "Like I said, you can avoid killing people."

"Sorry to break this up, kids," Dean interrupted, "but we need to get outta here before anyone else shows up."

Marty was hesitant. These guys were monster hunters. Dana was, by all definitions, a monster. Even if they seemed to be willing to give her the benefit of the doubt in terms of trusting her not to turn wolf and kill them all, he wasn't sure if it would be completely safe.

"Where are you planning to go?" Marty questioned. Then he remembered what Dean had told the angel. "_Colorado_?"

"Sam and I are going to Colorado. I'm not going to play babysitter," Dean said. "You're both legal right? We have a motel in town you guys can crash at. There are a couple more things to help you out, but can we discuss on the road please?"

Dean slid into the driver's seat and Sam took shotgun. Marty sighed, settling into the backseat and buckled in.

Dana was quiet through the ride out of the woods. She stared out at the dawn yellowing the sky over the trees. Marty could probably go without camping or seeing another goddamn pinecone for the rest of his life.

"So, who were these guys, exactly?" Sam asked, twisting in his seat to look at him.

"You could probably tell more than we could," Marty said. "I think it was some kind of cult."

"Dude, this wasn't a cult," Dean commented. "It was a friggin' _organization_. These gods were in Germany. In _Japan_."

"As soon as possible we need to get in touch with Akiyama over in Toyko," Sam threw in. "People must have scattered once they realized their all-powerful gods disappeared." Dean grunted at him in agreement, then turned his attention back to Marty and Dana.

"How did you two end up here?" Dean asked. "I mean, by all accounts you two don't look like your typical horror movie survivors."

Marty laughed slightly. Horror movie. Huh. That's pretty much _exactly_ what had happened. You would think that a couple of 21st century kids would have anticipated everything to play out the way it did, and yet they fell into every trope in the book. After a second, though, Marty thought that was probably the point.

"I really don't know how it happened, how we got roped into all this or anything," Marty admitted. "Curt—one of our friends—he said his cousin's cabin was open. Didn't think twice about it. Pretty sure Curt…" Marty trailed off, his throat closing up. "Ah, forget it. Sorry, my memory…those fuckers must have manipulated that too. Guess we'll never know now." His fists clenched in his lap as he pushed away the reminder of what he had just lost.

Dean and Sam exchanged another eerily silent conversation.

"Anyway, I found the capsule that brought those zombies up, got Dana out, and we went down into the evil lair. Uh, distracted the people aiming to kill us by releasing the horde of monsters they were keeping down there."

"Oh, yeah, _that_ bit made our job easier," Dean muttered dryly. "Thanks for that." Marty ignored the jab, mostly because he wasn't entirely sure what the guy was implying.

"The director or whatever said that they've been doing this for centuries. So there's been others? In other countries, too?"

"Leave the worrying to us," Sam said. "You two have been through enough."

"What?" Marty exclaimed. "These assholes just destroyed my life, and Dana's! We deserve to know what the hell is going on. Are these people still out there? Are we going to have to keep on the run for the rest of our lives? You can't just—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down, Shaggy," Dean barked. "We are in nearly over our heads as it is, and _we're_ hunters. What you and Velma back there need to do is get the hell outta dodge."

It was annoying, but the guy was right. Damage control with Dana and her…_issue_ was a big enough disaster to deal with.

At least for now.

Slowly the signs of civilization—untouched by the chaos that had unfolded mere miles away—grew more frequent. The light of the morning sun was stronger now, and the brightness hurt his eyes. Strangely enough, just the thought of people waking up to a new day undisturbed was more surreal to Marty than thinking about what had just happened.

Dean pulled the car into the lot of a motel. It looked skeezy, but it was probable that the tenants wouldn't notice two college kids covered in blood if they slipped into the room fast enough.

"You're covered for another night," Dean told Marty as Sam was rummaging through the trunk for some basic supplies and clean clothes. "Clean yourselves up, whatever."

Sam walked over to Dana and gave her a small pack.

"Here, you'll need this," Sam said, handing Dana a slip of paper. "Garth; he's one of us. He'll help you out. Get you established in the world. You might want to keep your, um, _situation_ quiet. Hunters…not all of them are as liberal as Dean and I."

"Christ," Dana muttered. "How many monster victims do you get? No, wait, I don't want to know."

"Yeah, you don't," Dean agreed.

"Thanks," Dana said. "You know, for everything else too."

"Saving our asses," Marty clarified.

"Next time you wake up ancient gods hell-bent on dominating the earth," Dean deadpanned, "maybe stall a little longer." The bitchface his brother gave him for that comment was truly epic, and perhaps enough to lighten the moment.

"Right," Dana said, looking unsure.

"Glad you're not dead though," Sam mentioned.

"I think you got as many thank you's as you're gonna get from us," Marty said, cocking a brow.

"You sure you want to hit the road with Cujo?" Dean asked. Dana glared at him, but only hefted the pack over her shoulder. Marty gave Dean a weary smirk.

"Dude, I just lived through the almost-end-of-the-world. How many people can say that?"

The brothers exchanged strange looks at one another and Dean grinned darkly.

"You have no idea," he said.

"Well, I think I can handle one werewolf." Marty chuckled. "Especially one that's already tried to kill me." He saw Dana flinch. Fuck, probably too soon to make light of that. Too late to take it back now.

Dean and Sam said their goodbyes and then got back into the Impala. The sleek muscle car peeled out of the lot, leaving the two to pick up the pieces of their shattered world. Marty was the first to head inside the room, Dana following behind after a moment.

"They are kind of assholes," Dana said, dropping the pack on a bed. The paper with the number on it fluttered beside it.

"They did pull us out of the pit in a sense," he commented, closing the door. "I guess they get a free pass."

She didn't respond to that and still had her back to him. He almost didn't hear her speak as he walked over to the television.

"What are we going to do, Marty?" she whispered. He paused, uncomfortable and unsure. He let out a breath.

"We'll figure things out on the road, yeah?" he said softly. "Go take a shower. I'll see if there's a number for a pizza place. I'm starved."

Dana swallowed, looking distraught, but she nodded. She grabbed the pack and brought it with her into the bathroom.

As soon as the sound of the faucet turned on, Marty dropped down to sit on the bed and took a few seconds to pull himself together. He was _beyond_ his last stretch, that much was certain. But Dana was freaking out; he had to make sure they had a few hours to rest even if they couldn't attempt sleep just yet. Dana may have been healed, but she needed a breather as much as he did.

He found a number for a local pizza joint in the directory by the phone. Then he sat on the bed just tried to focus on breathing and not keeling over. By the time Dana walked out of the bathroom, he was able to force up the façade of nonchalance.

Dana was not looking at him as she tossed the blood-soaked clothes into the trash bin in the corner. The men's clothes dwarfed her and her expression was stony. Oh, he _really_ didn't like that look on her face.

"Hope you didn't use up all the hot water," he joked awkwardly.

"It's not safe here."

"I think we've established that the bad guys are neutralized for now. And it's broad daylight. The monsters only come out at night, right?"

"I mean for _you_," Dana stated, her eyes flashing with frustration and sadness. "I'm a werewolf. You're rooming with a werewolf tonight." Marty chewed on his lip, choosing his words carefully.

"I don't know about you, Dana, but it's not even nine in the morning and I'm more worried about figuring out what to do _tomorrow_."

"A _werewolf_, Marty. I may not have killed you today," she said bitterly, "but what about tonight? Tomorrow night? I can't…I feel different already and I don't know what will happen if I…if I change."

"Do we have to figure this out now?" he said, exasperated.

"You can find somewhere else to go, Marty. You've done enough to—"

"Like hell!" Marty exclaimed, throwing a hand out. "Our families—Curt, Jules, Holden…they're _gone_. After all we've seen…there—there are _monsters_ out here, Dana. In any case…you're—" Marty hesitated, his voice stuck in his throat for a second. _You're all I got now too, _he wanted to say. But he didn't. "Don't tell me you want to handle this alone."

Dana make a face at him, that 'don't make me say you're right' face that lightened his heart a bit as she bit her lip and shook her head.

"Now that we've gotten that straightened out," Marty sighed. "I need food. And a shower. And to sit down for a bit…"

"Oh shit, Marty," Dana gasped. "I forgot. Are _you_ okay?"

"Eh, been better," Marty jested, but damn if that stab wound in his back wasn't hurting like a bitch. "Just need to wash up and rest. There're towels in the bathroom, right?"

"Yeah. And the clean clothes are in the pack by the sink," she told him. "I don't think I need anything but…we should probably clean your cuts, too." She gestured towards his face. "I'll go ask management for a first aid kit."

"Sounds like a plan," he smiled slightly, then moved towards the bathroom. "Pizza should be here in about fifteen minutes. It's already paid for, tip and everything. Courtesy of our friendly neighborhood monster hunters and their credit card."

He shut the door behind him. The shower was small, and he was pretty sure that was mold in the corner, but when the showerhead sputtered to life he nearly moaned as searing hot water came pouring onto his hand. He caught a glance at himself in the mirror, and it was like seeing a stranger. His stomach twisted, and he pushed away the thought.

As gingerly as he could, Marty removed his clothes. Getting his shirt off was the worst; he had to bite down on a towel to keep from crying out. The blood had dried and stuck to his skin, and his injured back ignited in protest.

He washed himself as best he could facing the water and avoided his back as much as he could. The soap stung the cuts, but he ignored it in order to scrub away every remnant of gore from himself and others.

As soon as the water ran clear and no longer tainted, Marty shut off the water and stepped out.

The jeans were way too big, but Sam had sense to pack a belt. Marty pulled those on and then eyed the clean shirt that was sitting in the bag.

He felt the blood from the newly reopened wound trickle down his spine. The muscles in his back were painfully cramped and he couldn't even reach to feel if the hole needed stitches. Judging by the hole in his blood-stained shirt and having welded the knife himself, the wound was nothing to sneer at. He didn't know anything about medicine, but leaving something like that untended was courting infection and he damn well wasn't going to die of blood poisoning at this point.

Marty made a face at the thought of asking Dana to take a look at it. He wasn't exactly comfortable being shirtless, especially in the company of women. But he really didn't have a choice in the matter, did he? Dean insisted on no hospitals.

In any case, he was too tired to feel embarrassed about his lack of physique at this point.

"Hey, Dana?" he muttered, opening the bathroom door. Dana was sitting against the headboard of one of the beds, her knees drawn up to her chest and a look on her face like she's been fighting a war in her head. The smell of pepperoni wafted through the room. The box was sitting, unopened, on the small bedside table between the two doubles.

He cleared his throat. "Um."

"Need something?" Dana asked.

Marty took a breath and stepped out, hunched with arms crossed in front of his chest.

"Yeah, uh…see, back at the cabin I kinda got hit in the back with a knife." Dana's eyes widened and he raised his hands to calm her. "I'm fine, I don't think it nicked anything vital! It just hurts like a mofo, and I can't reach back there to disinfect it or whatever."

"Turn around," Dana ordered, getting up from the bed and walking over to him. Marty obeyed, and heard Dana inhale sharply.

"How bad—?"

"We should take you to a doctor," she said. Marty turned back around to face her. Dana's brow was furrowed. "It looks like it needs stitches."

"I really don't want to get the cops called on this," he told her. His voice finally sounded as tired as he felt. "Maybe there's some of those moth things for cuts in the kit?"

"Butterfly stitches? I don't—"

"Those. Please, Dana."

She studied Marty for a second, then sighed and went to the bedside table. Marty followed and sat on the edge of his designated bed. The pizza made him light-headed with hunger, but first things first.

"Alcohol, stitches, bandage, tape," Marty listed off as she rummaged through the white box. Boy Scout training came back at the oddest of times. "It'll do for now."

Dana placed the items on the bed and clambered behind him. Even in his exhausted state, the anxiety of being shirtless in her presence washed over him.

He heard Dana rip open the tiny package of alcohol swabs and braced himself. He felt Dana gingerly wipe at the middle of his back.

"_Shit_," he hissed, fingers digging into the mattress as he flinched forward. Tears stung at the corners of his eyes. _Fuck_, that _hurt_.

"Sorry! Sorry!" Dana insisted.

"Nonono, I'm just a pussy," Marty panted. "Just get it over with."

He bit down hard as she went over it again, only letting a low grunt pass through his teeth. Her warm hand was on his shoulder now, and through the pain Marty heard her whisper frantic apologies as she finished disinfecting the wound.

A foolish part of him hoped that maybe she was apologizing for more than just the sting of the alcohol.

Her hands shook against his skin as she put the butterfly stitches in place and then taped gauze over it.

"Done?" he asked, looking over his shoulder at her. The burning was going down to a dull throb much to his relief.

"Yeah," she squeaked. She cleared her throat hastily. "Sorry, I tried to be quick…"

"Hey, hey, no," Marty insisted, shifting gingerly to face her. "No, don't worry about it. I've had doctors a lot worse than you. I swear."

Dana fiddled with the scrap paper of the alcohol wipes anxiously. On an impulse Marty reached out to still her hands with his.

"Thank you," he said in earnest. Dana swallowed and nodded.

"You're welcome."

She pulled away and slipped off the bed. After a beat, Marty picked up the first aid box and went into the bathroom to put on the shirt. Luckily it was huge, so he could take his time pulling it over his head without pulling the stitches loose. He examined his face in the mirror. There were some nasty bruises forming on his cheeks, but his nose had stopped bleeding a while back. He carefully went over scratches with the alcohol wipes and then placed the box on the empty pack.

The two of them forced down some of the bottled water in the tiny fridge and some pizza before settling in. Dana insisted that she wasn't going to be able to sleep. While Marty didn't want to wake up alone with Dana having slipped off in an attempt to spare him her newly-realized wolfy nature, he was fighting a losing battle.

He maneuvered onto his stomach and his last thought was how absolutely fucked up everything was. Marty awoke approximately ten hours later, as the afternoon sun was beginning to drift down and the cicadas were whining loudly. His body was incredibly stiff and sore, but he was alive.

And Dana had not left him.


	2. Chapter 2

"**Saving People, Hunting Things"**

A Cabin in the Woods/Supernatural Fanfiction

**Part 2 of 3**

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Marty found that he was nearly ready to break down.

The first two days were easy; they were both still numb from their ordeal. Calling Garth and setting up the basic safety net for their continued survival was the first thing they did. The friendly hunter-slash-consultant express-shipped bogus credit cards and IDs to get their lives back on track. They didn't have a car, but train tickets were cheap enough. Dana got them moving up north, towards the Great Lake area. They took it slowly; even though Dana had her superhuman powers now, Marty was still recovering physically.

The two of them eventually established a routine as they moved from one city to the next; never staying for more than two nights. Someone would check the room for bugs and cameras, and Garth had sent them a modified airborne-chemical detector at Marty's request. The guy called him paranoid, but Marty didn't want to take that chance. When the room was designated clean, they would take turns keeping watch as the other person slept or took a shower.

After the first few days, they bought disposable cell phones. Eventually they would go off on their own, needing their space but connected in an instant if necessary. Dana was more the type to wander off and explore each town they visited, while Marty kept to the motel. Each time she went out the door alone Marty had to bite his tongue to keep from insisting she should stay close. The fear that she would leave him was still fresh.

Dana proposed they should buy a gun, but Marty danced around the issue and insisted that the two knives and the baseball bat from Wal-Mart would suffice as protection. She seemed to catch on as to why he would be uncomfortable having the weapon and didn't mention it again.

But such constant vigilance can be tiring after a while and once reality began to set in once more—and they were presented with the choice of what to do next—they argued. A lot.

Mostly it was just a way to blow off steam. Their stress levels were beyond what either of them ever had to deal with before. Dana seemed to have it in her mind that they would never have a normal life again, and Marty just wanted to forget everything that had happened. When he would suggest trying to go back to their college, Dana would fall silent or change the subject.

_Are we even friends? Was that a fabrication too? _he wondered bitterly one night as he walked out of their dingy motel room in Ohio a week after the trio of hunters saved them. Dana had called him out on not trusting her, accused him of blaming her for the zombie thing. Which, of course, was not true. They had _all_ been drawn into the trap, but Dana refused to let go of her underlying survivor's guilt. It was really starting to aggravate him, so Marty grabbed his jacket and went out to the parking lot, sitting on the concrete of the sidewalk by the road. He was too chicken-shit to go any further.

Dana apologized on his return about an hour later, and then went to management to pay for the replacement of the table lamp which apparently she knocked over when he was out. Of course he forgave her. She was the only friend he had left. After that particular outburst, they both made an effort to be more civil around one another.

Truth was, they were still scared. The prospect of a half-life on the run made Marty frustrated and withdrawn. Dana was faring little better. They were not even going near the subject of monsters at this point, but Marty felt the menace hovering over their heads almost constantly. What if they were being tracked by the scattered members of the Evil God cult? What if one of those monsters they set loose broke into their motel? What if Dana turned in the middle of the day and some hunter shot her full of silver bullets?

His mind yearned for the oblivion that marijuana would give him in the face of such harrowing questions, but Marty was terrified of the prospect that someone was watching. That anyone could slip more than weed into the drug and suck him back in to the world dominated by the Cabin. Needless to say, he was cutting it cold-turkey.

How were they supposed to live normal lives now?

About two weeks in, they finally got their answer.

They had reached Chicago now, and were keeping to the inner city. The metal high-rises and the constant flow of traffic calmed Marty, and seemed to have a good effect on Dana as well. At least, she wasn't looking like she'd bolt at the next loud noise. They still watched their backs as they checked in and cleared their room, ever cautious.

The woods seemed to follow them wherever they went. The city saved them from that feeling, just a little.

The motel gave them two free nights if they stayed a week, and there was little reason to move on to the next city. It was late afternoon on the fifth day, and they had run out of some basic supplies. Marty didn't like using a bogus credit card—Really, how long could they stretch their luck?—but it was their only option aside from begging until they agreed on what path they would take. There was a Walgreens down the block from their motel.

Dana stood by the entrance, browsing the magazine section and keeping an eye on the door at the same time. A television broadcasting the local weather was muted behind the counter. Marty headed down the toiletries aisle and nabbed some shampoo and toothpaste before going down to check out the food aisle.

He was in the middle of examining a rack of snack cakes when Dana walked up.

"Marty."

"Yeah?" he asked absently. Ho-Hos or Twinkies? Should probably stock up since they're going out of business.

"It's the full moon tonight."

"Uh-huh?" Guy needs a sugar fix once in a while, right? They were cheap, and would keep for forever.

"_Marty_." Her insistent hiss was accompanied by her squeezing his arm. Startled, Marty looked up. Her brow was tight. Marty blanked on what she had just told him, but then it clicked.

"Oh. OH."

Shit. They haven't even talked about this. One of those no-go zones in their conversational limits. And since practically nothing had happened since her bite marks magically disappeared, there was no point. They bought some cow hearts from Safeway at Dana's suggestion and Marty looked the other way as she ate them raw. And that was it.

"I know. I forgot, too. I've been feeling weird all day…" she trailed off, and then ran a hand through her hair. "Listen, I think you should move to another room."

"What? No!" A shopper on the far end of the aisle looked up at him. Marty lowered his voice and angled towards his friend. "Dana, are you crazy? You could burst out the motel and assault someone, and no one would be around to stop you."

"And you could?" she countered. "The hunters said I had more control over the change. I haven't eaten any human hearts either. If anything, I need to be alone. You can't be in the way if I get out of hand."

"You haven't even changed yet, you couldn't possibly know—"

"That's…" Dana paused. "Not entirely true."

"_Excuse me_?" Marty gasped.

"Excuse me?"

Marty and Dana turned to see a Walgreens attendant standing behind them, smiling calmly.

"Do you require any assistance?"

Right. That would be their cue to bail.

"We're just leaving," Marty said, pulling his whirling mind back to one place. He grabbed Dana's wrist and led her to the check-out.

She didn't say a word to him the way back to the motel, but Marty was paying more attention to her now. At first glance it seemed like she was relaxed as she strolled down the sidewalk. But after a moment Marty picked up on how Dana's nostrils flared every time someone passed, and how she would swallow. It wasn't fear in her eyes; it was hunger.

Shit.

They reached the motel just as Marty was making mental plans to stock up on animal hearts before night fell. There's a Chinatown in Chicago, right? They'd have craploads of random animal bits. Maybe if Dana gorged on pig hearts she would be too full to try something…more humany.

And what did she _mean_ by "not entirely true"?

"Call the front desk, you can get me another room," Dana said, picking up a handful of her clothing that was lying by the other twin bed. She began shoving it into one of the small backpacks. "One maybe on the top floor or somewhere in a far corner and… then we'll leave in the morning, yeah?"

"Just—just hold on a minute," he insisted, rubbing his temples. "Are you sure you're gonna change?"

"I feel weird. Antsy. Like the last time," she mumbled. She hesitated, gripping a shirt in one hand and throwing Marty a nervous look.

"Last—" Marty trailed off, eyes wide. "What have you been keeping from me?" Dana's brow tightened and then she ducked her head down to focus on her bag.

"It was nothing, Marty."

"Dana, if you've gone wolfy then I'm pretty sure that that's not nothing."

She stopped moving, deep in thought. She passed a hand over her face wearily.

"Back in Ohio," she sighed. "You walked out and…it was quick. I got it under control before you got back."

Marty blinked. She had changed, alone, and didn't tell him? His mind went to the shattered lamp in the motel room. If he had stayed a little longer, that might have not been the only thing broken.

"Dana."

"Just that one time. It's fine. It'll be fine. I'll do some yoga or something tonight."

Marty gazed at her incredulously. "That helps?"

"I was pissed when it happened. Maybe being calm will take the edge off this…" she shook her head, as if trying to clear it. "It would be better if you weren't in the room. Just in case."

"I can take care of myself, you know," he said.

"I know, it's…I don't want to take the risk of hurting you."

It was a nice sentiment, but Marty didn't like the idea of her changing on her own. Again. Dana didn't look away as Marty attempted to stare her down. Finally, when he accepted that she wasn't going to change her mind on this one, he relented.

"Alright. Fine. Want me to go pick up some hearts? Maybe it'll calm your appetite." Dana cringed at the insinuation.

"Noticed?"

Marty shrugged.

"Hey, as long as you can keep your paws off of _me_, I'm fine," he grinned.

"I'm not going to hurt you," she muttered. He mentally kicked himself. Yeah, that bit was still a touchy subject.

"Good. It would be a pain in the ass if we had to deal with two werewolves in one motel."

Dana gave him a long-suffering look, but continued packing up her things.

"I'll go down to the front desk and see what they can do for us," he said, dropping the plastic shopping bag on his bed before heading to the door. "Need anything else?"

"The, um," she hesitated just enough, "cow hearts wouldn't hurt. If you could—"

"Seriously, Dana?" Marty cut her off, his expression patient. "Don't sweat it."

Dana didn't move her focus from her bag, but after a beat she murmured, "Thanks, Marty."

Satisfied, Marty exited the motel room and headed downstairs. There was a room on the top floor, which was pretty much unoccupied. He asked the man at the desk to ring up their room when it was ready. Dana could grab the key and get settled by the time he got back.

The market area was a few blocks down, and Marty made sure to hit up more than one butcher. Buying buckets of animal hearts would probably draw attention.

As he walked back to the motel, Marty considered Dana's particular predicament. There was no turning back from this now; they _had_ to talk about how they were going to kick-start their lives. According to the experts, there was no cure to lycanthropy. They could keep looking for one, but even Dana seemed unusually okay with the concept of being a werewolf.

Well, if she could control the bloodlust, maybe it would just be a strange quirk. She could go back to school. He could go to back to school too, clean up his act maybe, get a job. He spent most of his summers during high school rewiring houses with his uncle's company. That motel back in Cincinnati paid him to help out with one of the rooms. Maybe he could grab a few gigs…

Just thinking about a normal life, though, made Marty queasy. As much as he wanted to leave the Cabin behind, as much as he wanted the haunted look in Dana's eyes to disappear, as much as he wished he could stop waking up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat—Marty had a bad feeling that the world had inverted and they couldn't live by the old rules anymore. Not after what he had seen and done.

It was twilight by the time he reached the motel again. Their—now his—room was empty of his friend and her belongings. Dana left a note telling him the room number. He locked the room behind him and headed up the stairs. The elevator was broken, but Marty was pretty sure he wouldn't have used it anyway.

The meat in the bags were heavy, and Marty was looking forward to dropping them off and getting some dinner of his own. At this point, his squeamishness at the prospect of Dana eating them raw had all but vanished. Pretty much the same thing as sushi, right? Speaking of sushi, he could go for some right now.

The hallway was dim, and the door at the end was cracked open slightly. A chill went down Marty's spine. It may just be his PTSD or paranoia or whatever, but he could have sworn he heard something.

He slowed down, stepping cautiously now as he approached the motel room. Marty froze as the noise grew more distinct. Right behind him. The low, menacing rumbling of an animal about to attack.

He didn't want to turn around. He _really_ didn't want to turn around.

"Ah, _fuck_!" Marty spat, spinning on his heel to backpedal. But he wasn't fast enough. Almost instantly she was on him, pinning him against the wall with her hands. The grocery bags were abandoned with a soft _thump_ on the floor. Vicious claws poked through his thin shirt. Her eyes reflected eerily the stale fluorescent light, like a nocturnal animal.

"Strange…smell…in the room…" Dana growled. Marty's heart stuttered in his chest at the sight of her fangs. Her voice was rough, gritty. In any other circumstance Marty would have thought it sexy as hell (well—let's be honest—he still did), but there was that little matter of his werewolf friend's teeth inches away from his throat.

"W-What?" he squeaked.

"Stay here," she huffed. Huh. At least she didn't have dog breath.

Her razor-nailed hand lifted from its crushing position on his chest and he could breathe again. Dana took one longing look at the bag of hearts, but then moved down the hall back to the room.

"_Dana_," he hissed, not liking the idea that she was going in alone. Werewolf or not.

Marty took two steps forward before a man popped out of the adjoining room and tackled him. The two fell to the side with mingled grunts, and then Marty started swinging.

"Dana, _run_!" Marty bellowed, backhanding the man. His fist connected with something that snapped, and the guy let go long enough for him to scramble to his feet. Glancing back as he darted forward, Marty could see that the guy was wearing some kind of utility outfit. Cult members posing as handymen? Great. Can't trust a damn soul in this world.

He nearly bumped into Wolfy-Dana as she scurried towards him, and suddenly he was being dragged towards the stairs. Utility Guy was back on his feet and sprinting after them. His nose was bleeding freely and a gun was in his hand.

_Shit_.

"Ow!" Marty protested, feeling Dana's claws biting into his wrist. She released her grip and they fled downwards. With a _pop_, the plaster exploded as they rounded a bend. Dana violently shoved Marty around the next corner just as the gun went off once more. Startled, he covered his head and jumped three stairs at a time.

He had reached the second floor by the time he realized Dana was no longer at his side. A few people were poking their heads out of their rooms and staring at him. His chest seized in fear as he looked up the flight. No one was running down, and he couldn't hear anything. Panting, Marty reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his switchblade. He didn't know how to really use the fucking thing, but it was better than nothing.

His breath was loud—too loud—as he crept up the stairs. His mouth was dry, and he dreaded what he was about to find. Around the second bend of stairs, he heard some shuffling. Marty let out two short breaths, gathering himself, as he peered around the corner.

Dana was standing over the broken body of Utility Guy in the middle of the stairwell. There was a bloody hole in her shoulder which made Marty lurch forward in panic, but that was beginning to close up. In her other hand was the bag of hearts. Her features were still vaguely lupine, but they were beginning to soften.

"We need to get out of here," she panted. "Call Garth."

"Your arm—" Marty started, gesturing to her shoulder. She glanced at it and shrugged.

"Healing up already," she dismissed. "Werewolf, remember?"

"You were lucky," he said, concerned. "They could have been silver bullets."

"We can discuss this as long as you want later, Marty," she commented, getting level with him, "but I'm pretty sure these guys aren't stupid enough to go in alone. We need to leave. Now."

It would be a bad idea to argue with her if she _wasn't_ a werewolf, but things being as they were, Marty just trailed after her. She headed towards one of the windows on the second floor that led to a fire escape. Together they pushed the window open and climbed through. They scaled down the side of the building rapidly, and already Marty could hear the sounds of sirens.

"Great," he muttered.

Dana led them through the dark streets of Chicago until they reached a park. Part of Marty thought of crazy addicts or something attempting to mug them, but he was pretty sure Dana's claws would be enough to deter any potential assailants.

"Call Garth," Dana ordered as soon as they found a fairly secluded bench.

"Why don't you?"

Dana answered him by tearing into the bag of hearts with ferocious gusto.

Whelp.

"_Garth. What can I do ya for?_"

"Hey, man. It's Marty."

"_Mikalski! I've been waiting for you to drop me a line. How are you and Dana doin'?_"

"Uh…" His eyes darted to the ravenous woman on the bench beside him. "We're alive. But we're kinda in a situation."

"_It's no prob, Marty. I can get you out. How much is bail?_"

"What? No, no, Garth. We aren't in jail. Listen, have the Winchesters said anything more about the ancient worldwide Cult?"

"_Nothin' much, those boys' lips are tighter than guitar strings about their business,_" the hunter replied.

"Thing is…Dana and I were attacked. Like. Just now. Pretty sure it's the same people who set us up to be killed by zombies and nearly set loose ancient gods."

"_Balls_," Garth spat on the other line. "_Were you being tracked_?"

"No clue. We've been careful. They came outta no—"

Suddenly the cell was yanked from his hand from a clearly human Dana. Well, aside from a small smudge of cow blood on her chin.

"Garth, it's Dana," she said into the receiver. "Yeah. Like I told you before. No, I thought we were clean, but they managed to pump chemicals into my motel room. We underestimated these assholes. Can you get us in contact with the Winchesters?" Dana furrowed her brow. "Are there any other hunters on this? Uh-huh. Okay. Check on our cards, will you? Heading to New York City. No public transport, can't risk being spotted by the police. We need our own wheels this time. Oh? Oh, great. Perfect." She reached into her pocket and pulled out her own cell. She held it out to him. "Just a sec. Marty, put this number in my phone. It's someone in the area who can get us a car."

Marty caught onto her meaning, and plugged in the numbers as Dana recited them. They had to get out of Chicago, but taking the train or a plane would be too risky. The organization was on their tail now. But why New York?

She thanked Garth and handed Marty the phone back as soon as she hung up. He switched it out with her phone, and Dana immediately dialed the number on the screen. Marty watched her silently as she negotiated with the person on the other line. From what he could glean from the one-sided conversation, it was someone who had been helped by hunters before. She had a truck they could buy off of her, and could be at the park in under ten minutes.

Marty kept constant watch during their wait, afraid that some goon would pop out of the bushes. No one so much as passed the bench as they sat in silence, but he didn't loosen his grip on his knife nonetheless.

It was a rusted, dented thing. But the engine was running and it wasn't sputtering, and the tires seemed fairly new. Shelby Ponz, the owner, shook their hands and offered a decent price. Her husband, who had a couple of old scars on his cheek, glared at them from the other car. Shelby gave them a watered down explanation of how Garth saved them from a shapeshifter two years back and owed him a favor. She wished them luck, handed Dana the keys, and then she drove off with Mr. Ponz.

"Alright, no point in standing here looking pret–Hey!"

He had snatched the keys from Dana's hand, almost immediately regretting it due to the murderous look on her face. He hid his very reasonable fear behind a nervous chuckle.

"Aha. No way. You're shakin' like a fucking leaf."

"I'm fine to drive, Marty," she scoffed, but her wan face and restless scuffle to each side to cover up her trembling was all the proof he needed.

"You just turned big bad, Dana," Marty pointed out. "Trust me, we'll both feel better if you take a breather."

Dana stared him down for another second, but just threw up her hands and then moved to the passenger's side. Marty rubbed his temple for a second against an oncoming headache before slipping into the driver's seat. Out of habit, he craned his neck over his shoulder to check the back seat and the trunk bed beyond it. Clear of monsters, or creepers. He let out a breath and glanced at Dana. Her hands were tucked under her knees, and her face was stoic as she refused to catch his eye.

It was silent and tense as they left the metropolis. Marty was constantly checking the rearview to make sure no one was tailing him. And Dana was just sitting there, looking like her mind was in the Cabin again. It was fucking exhausting, to be honest. Finally he couldn't take the quiet anymore.

"So…you smelled something in your room?"

Dana didn't answer for a beat. "Yeah. It's weird, I…I was calm. I was doing alright, you know, deep breathing exercises or whatever. The moon was out and everything, and I was just waiting for you to get back with food. Then out of nowhere I got a whiff of this…I can't explain it. I flipped. Like a switch." In his peripheral, Marty saw Dana shift uncomfortably.

"Okay. So they triggered the change with chemicals," Marty said slowly. "That's good news, at least? It wasn't your fault."

"Can't be sure," Dana mumbled.

"Hey, you didn't kill me on sight," Marty pointed out. "Even on an empty stomach. And Mr. Fix-It back there had it coming."

Her response was whispered and made Marty turn his head.

"What?"

"_I wanted to_," she said, her voice only slightly louder and tight with restrained emotion. His eyes flicked back to her, and back to the road once more. She was staring down at her lap, looking for all the world like the terrified girl he held in the elevator. "The sound…I could hear your heartbeat, Marty. There was nothing more I wanted to do than to…"

"Eat my heart straight out of my chest?" Marty grinned in spite of himself. He couldn't help but laugh. What a _heartbreaker_. Oh, the irony.

"It's not funny, Marty!" Dana snapped.

Good. Angry Dana was better than scared Dana.

"'Course it's not. Sorry," he said quickly. "But fact is, you didn't. You helped get us out of there, Dana. Safe and sound, werewolf and all."

"What about next time?"

"We deal with next time when it comes," Marty stated, serious now. Bypassing most of the warning alarms in his head, Marty held out his hand to Dana. It was a gesture of solidarity if nothing else. She didn't move at first. Just as he was beginning to feel like an idiot, her clammy palm slipped into his. Despite himself, Marty lightly brushed his thumb over the back of her hand in what he hoped was a soothing manner. Dana didn't move away. In fact, she weakly squeezed his fingers in return.

Marty set his jaw. She wasn't going through this insanity alone, not if he could help it.

"Is your shoulder okay?" he asked, gently pulling his hand away before he did something else stupid.

"Good as new."

"Good."

The silence was more relaxed now. They had passed the city limits. No cops or any other vehicles were chasing them. They were just about to hit Layfayette on their way back east towards Ohio when Marty remembered something.

"Why are we going to New York City?"

His question was received by a strangely guilty Dana.

"Um. I've been researching," she said meekly. Dana never was one to pull off the whole nonchalant thing. Too fucking sincere. Oh, he loved that about her.

"Researching…what?"

"The Cult."

"The Cu…" Marty suppressed the urge to slam his forehead against the steering wheel. "_Why_?"

"I knew they were going to get a hold of us, but I didn't think it would happen so quickly."

"So what, you started _Googling_ these bastards?" Marty exclaimed.

"Of course not, Marty. I'm not _stupid_," Dana retorted. "I've been talking to Garth, and a couple of other hunters. Keeping tabs, and learning more about these guys and what they might be up to now. I thought it would be a good idea. You know, seeing as we were the ones to bring the whole operation down on their heads."

"Yeah, I think the whole gun-wielding goon in the motel was a pretty obvious sign that we have two big fucking targets on our asses."

"But we got the upper hand now," Dana insisted. "We can track these bastards down."

"What are you talking about?"

Dana reached in her pocket and placed a slip of paper into his palm.

It was a business card. He didn't recognize the company name, but he sure as hell recognized the tiny five-pronged symbol in the top left corner. There was no address, but beside **LOGISTICS LMT** there was **NYC DIVISION** printed in neat black lettering.

"It was in his pocket," Dana explained.

"It could be a trick," he told her. "A plant."

"Then we pick it apart and find a way around it," she said. "Knock them out like we did back at the Cabin."

"That's your plan?" Marty huffed. "Because hitting them where they're holed up worked so well last time."

"Where else are we going to go?"

Marty caught her gaze. Her eyes were determined, her will fiery, but he could see the wavering foundations behind her bravado.

Okay, so she really didn't have to pull the whole sad puppy-eyes routine either. Motherfucker. Marty inhaled slowly and saw his already-tattered hopes for normality dissipate. But did it matter, really? If these assholes were still trying to kill them, there was no way they could hide and wait for it to blow over.

No. Marty knew when it was time to fight back.

He cocked his head towards Dana. "New York City, huh?"

Dana grinned. "New York City."

About an hour later, when Dana was passed out in shotgun and the interstate was stretched out with nothing but headlights to light their way, Marty realized that the bullet Dana had taken in the shoulder had been meant for him.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Author's Note: For Dana I sort of mixed the appearance of the Supernatural!Werewolf and CitW!Werewolf. Seeing as the first kind are more human-like, I use the excuse that the werewolf kept in the Cabin had been conversely starved and eaten many human hearts over millennia and thus degenerated into something more bestial.

Yes, there will be a third and final part to this. Probably not until after this weekend, because I have a GRE to study for.


End file.
